


and our eyes are crossing paths across the room

by tmylm



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Smut, Spin the Bottle, Strangers to Lovers, Valentine's Day, bechloe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:48:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29441427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmylm/pseuds/tmylm
Summary: Beca doesn't like Valentine's Day, but she really has no desire to attend an Anti-Valentines party. Maybe she'll be glad that she did.
Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell
Comments: 20
Kudos: 168





	and our eyes are crossing paths across the room

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Demi Lovato's _Body Say_.

Even last year, when she’d very much had what she would consider a semi-stable relationship of her own to put her energy into, Beca had been of the same belief as this year, the same as every February fourteenth before that, in fact: Valentine’s Day is _stupid_. Why do people need a specific day to celebrate love? They don’t. They just really, really don’t. In Beca’s opinion, Valentine’s Day is nothing but a money-grabber day backed by candy companies looking to hike up the price of their already extortionate goods, and those who buy into the whole false advertisement of the day are just as ridiculous as each other.

Of course, her grumbling had been much more internal last year, the non-holiday at least a _little_ more appealing, when she’d had somebody to celebrate with…

And it is not like Beca is sad about the loss of that particular relationship. Sure, she and Jesse had shared a few pretty great years together, but ultimately, Beca had found that she did not quite feel the way she was supposed to feel for Jesse, the way most people felt for their significant other. More often than not, she’d find herself making up excuses, prolonging the time it took to complete small, simple tasks so as not to have to be home with her boyfriend, because as it turned out, they really did not have very much in common, and while that made Beca feel like a dick, it also pushed her to eventually call it quits. So, she is not mourning the relationship, but does she mourn the loss of having _someone_? Of course. Life can be kind of lonely, and Beca does have to admit that she misses the idea of company—the two-legged kind; her cat, Gunner, totally does not count.

Beca loves her friends, she truly, truly does. She loves the way they are always there for her, the way they look out for her so wholeheartedly and protectively, even if she will outwardly groan at inappropriate times, even if she does suck at voicing her genuine appreciation. She does not, however, love the way they have begun to hover ever since her and Jesse’s breakup over three month ago now, clinging even harder with the day of love fast approaching, and treating Beca like a particularly helpless newborn puppy.

Perhaps it is because she loves them, because she knows they really do have only her best interests at heart, that Beca had not been able to squirm her way out of Stacie’s annual _Anti-Valentine’s Day Extravaganza_ this year, something Stacie has been adamant that Beca attend in spite of her many failed protests. She is positive that the only thing more depressing than watching happy couples throw their perfect relationships in her face on a day curated specifically for them to do so is to spend that same day with a bunch of other hopeless singles, whining about their hatred for their own loneliness, all while validating one another when they really cannot even validate themselves.

Regardless, dressed less than party appropriately in a gray colored band tee tucked into a pair of ripped skinny jeans, Beca now finds herself entering Stacie’s home with a poorly bit back frown in response to the ‘Fuck Love’ banners taped across the front of the house, drawing unnecessary attention to their bitter anti-festivities.

Something Beca does have to hand to Stacie, despite her deep disdain for the idea as a whole, is that she has always known how to throw one hell of a party. It doesn’t matter that they are closer to thirty than twenty now, whole adults with real jobs and many with families, Stacie still knows how to party like a college kid, so if nothing else, Beca figures the evening will at least provide her with some form of entertainment.

(It beats sitting home and scrolling through her Instagram feed, anyway. It is not like she particularly _cares_ about Jesse’s new happy romance, but she doesn’t need to see it.)

Before she even gets the chance to properly shrug off her trusty faded leather jacket, Beca jumps beneath the feeling of something foreign dropping forcefully onto her head.

“Dude, what the—” she glances upward in horror to the sight of Stacie with a devilish grin on her lips, wearing the same custom ‘Anti-Valentines’ party hat as the one she has just jammed onto Beca’s head. Quickly tugging the ridiculous paper headwear back off, Beca glances over the cartoon hearts adorning the rim, each one covered over with an obnoxious X mark, and tips her head to shoot an incredulous frown Stacie’s way. “Seriously?”

Stacie only shrugs in response, taking the silver colored hat from Beca’s lazy grasp and balancing it back in place on top of her head. “Glad you made it,” she says with a quick, easy wink, to which Beca only continues her same deep frown.

“Yeah, me too,” she grumbles sarcastically, shrugging her jacket the rest of the way off, before dumping it unceremoniously onto the chair by the door. If the large accumulation of discarded outerwear is anything to go by, there are plenty of people here already—maybe Beca is not quite as alone in her disdain for the non-holiday as she’d originally thought. Honestly, she doesn’t know whether to find the realization comforting or anxiety-inducing.

“Come on, I’ll grab you a drink,” Stacie offers breezily—not that she gives Beca much of a chance to protest—slender fingers wrapping around Beca’s arm to tug her in the direction of the familiar living room. “Everyone’s in here, we’re gonna play Spin the Bottle soon.”

“Spin the Bottle,” Beca repeats, deadpan expression overtaking her already less than impressed looking face. “Are you joking?”

“Why would I be joking?” Stacie questions with a raised brow. “It’s Anti-Valentines, Bec.” She leans in a little closer then, almost as if sharing with Beca an undisclosed secret, “Everyone’s single, might as well get _some_ action, right?”

Beca only rolls her eyes in response, though she doesn’t put up much of a fight. Why bother? She is here now, she figures she might as well at least try to join in, might as well make some vague attempt at enjoying herself... even if this does now seem way more like a ridiculous high school party than Stacie’s notorious college replicas.

Stacie’s house is much more spacious than Beca’s, something she might even be a little jealous of if Beca wasn’t so content with her own compact place. Especially with Jesse out of there now, Beca’s small house is pretty perfect for her and Gunner, the laziest cat in existence, but still, Stacie’s place is _really_ nice. The furniture—also likely way more expensive than Beca’s—has been pushed aside for the gathering, and a relatively large group of party-goers are congregated in the living room, already drinking and talking amongst themselves in smaller, tighter groups. Beca recognizes some faces from random nights out with Stacie and her friends, but Beca largely considers herself an outsider to this particular whole—she is only Stacie’s across-the-street neighbor, after all.

“Guys, this is Beca,” Stacie announces loudly, and Beca finds that she is thankful for the distraction of the party playlist thrumming softly around the room, because she really does not do well with needless attention, and it seems that all eyes are suddenly on her. Had the room been silent, she is positive she would’ve melted into an entirely characteristic puddle of awkward right there and then. She responds with a small wave, instinctively reaching up to remove the hat once more, before everybody quickly goes back to their previous conversations, and Beca can finally puff out a slow breath of decreasing tension.

In the interest of not looking like a total loser, clinging to her friend like the lost puppy she has worked so hard _not_ to be treated as as of late, Beca opts to hang back as Stacie breezes toward the kitchen to fix the drink she’d mentioned, though she wonders if she looks even more pathetic now, standing in the crowded living room alone. Fortunately, her solitude does not remain for long.

“Hey, I know you,” a bright, unfamiliar voice chirps to her right, and Beca instinctively twists for her startled gaze to land on the sight of a red headed stranger, slightly taller than her, and holding a comically bright yellow cup. The first simple glimpse causes Beca to falter slightly, stare fixating on what are arguably the brightest, bluest eyes she has ever seen up close.

“Uh, you do?” Beca finally responds, brows tugging together slightly. While she recognizes some faces in the room, this person’s is not one of them—and Beca is by no means blind, she is positive this is a face she would remember.

“Mhm,” the stranger nods enthusiastically, glossed lips turning upward into an easy, welcoming smile. “You were at Stacie’s birthday, right?”

“Oh, uh,” Beca clears her dry throat, almost nervously lifting a hand to tuck a brunette curl behind her ear. Why she is nervous, she really does not know—she has been in the presence of beautiful women before, after all. This one is... _really_ beautiful, though. Distractingly so. “Yeah, I was.” She pauses then, releasing a soft, somewhat embarrassed chuckle. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you. I mean, I was pretty drunk that night, I guess…”

“Oh, no, I wasn’t there,” the redhead says with a brief wave of her hand. “I just recognize you from the pictures.”

As far as Beca remembers, she had tried her hardest to stay away from the many phone cameras that evening, the same way as she did most evenings. She never likes the way she looks in pictures, especially in comparison to people like Stacie Conrad who are all tall, slender leg and perfect face, so she is sure she cannot have shown up in _that_ many. However, there is something strangely flattering about someone—especially _this_ specific someone—recognizing her from something as simple as a few photos, and Beca responds with an amused look, despite her tilted head and still gently knitted brows.

“I’m Chloe, by the way,” she says after a beat, dazzling grin stretching onto her lips. “I don’t really know anyone here, I’m Aubrey’s friend.”

“Right, Aubrey!” Beca pipes up with an uncharacteristic level of enthusiasm. It is not something she fully understands, but having something in common with Chloe, even something as simple as knowing the same person, feels very important right now. Like Beca has something to contribute to the conversation she for some reason is not trying to immediately end. “Yeah, right. Yeah, I…” she pauses then, nose wrinkling with the realization that she doesn’t actually have much more to add. Her cheeks flush in a way that Beca can feel, but hopes is not outwardly obvious as she continues lamely, “Uh, I know her.”

Chloe only chuckles quietly in response, lifting the yellow cup up to her lips. While Beca is trying her hardest not to stare, she takes note of the way Chloe is studying her over the cup, and Beca hopes to God that the awkwardness radiating from her is not _too_ outwardly apparent.

“You don’t drink?” Chloe hums, evidently noting Beca’s lack of a cup—the ugly party hat is still held in its place.

“No, I do,” Beca says with a quick nod of her head. “Stacie went to get me a drink.” She instinctively glances over Chloe’s shoulder and toward the kitchen, though sees no sight of Stacie returning just yet. A part of her is kind of glad, although she doesn’t know exactly why.

“Good, you’re gonna need one,” Chloe smirks mischievously, slender arm folding across her petite middle while the other elbow rests comfortably against the surface of her skin, long fingers curled around the yellow cup. “They all want to play Spin the Bottle.”

While Beca rolls her eyes at that, she also cannot help the soft chuckle she emits in response; it is a much lighter reaction to the one Stacie had received upon first informing her, something Beca opts not to question. “God, yeah, I heard.” In general, Beca really does not do well with new people, she doesn’t tend to feel comfortable around them right away. There is something different about Chloe, though. Something that makes Beca feel at ease, in spite of her strangely elevated heart rate. Again, it is something she chooses not to question. “Are you gonna play?”

Auburn brows raise at the apparent curiosity, and there is something Beca would liken to a devilish smile now painting itself onto Chloe’s lightly glossed lips. “Do you want me to play?”

In response, Beca’s already widened eyes shoot impossibly wider, stuttered voice catching in her throat. She quickly clears it, though, and cannot help the playful scowl she shoots toward Chloe in response to her light chuckle. “Uh, sure, weirdo. If you want to.”

“I’m not _that_ weird,” Chloe promises, the smugness in her tone radiating from her expression now, too. She glances over her shoulder at the feeling of a hand resting delicately against her arm, and Beca finds herself watching Chloe for a moment, before her focus is pulled by the drink held out toward her.

“For you,” Stacie winks. “If it’s too strong… just drink it anyway.”

Knowing Stacie, whatever is in the cup absolutely _will_ be too strong, so Beca only rolls her eyes, though lifts the drink up to her lips regardless. She can smell the strong scent of whiskey flying toward her nostrils immediately.

“You guys playing?” Stacie asks hopefully, releasing her gentle grasp on Chloe’s arm following a quick, friendly squeeze.

“Yeah, definitely,” Chloe responds with an excited bob of her head, thumb jerking over her shoulder. “This weirdo was just telling me how excited she is.” She turns to cast a smirk toward Beca, whose pale cheeks instantly redden in response, though she finds herself biting back an amused smile all the same.

Obviously excited by Beca’s apparent shift in mood, Stacie brightens instantly, a knowing look glistening in her emerald eyes. “That’s the anti-spirit.”

* * *

As expected, the drink Stacie had handed her very much _is_ entirely too strong, but Beca is anything but surprised, and in fact finds that she is grateful for the excessive amount of alcohol as she settles uncomfortably into the circle of Anti-Valentines singles, all eager to spin that elusive empty bottle positioned on the carpeted floor before them.

Sitting beside Stacie proves instantly to be a bad idea, considering there is no such thing as a quick peck where Stacie is concerned, and Beca gets a full, up close view of a very passionate, tongue-heavy liplock shared between her and someone Beca doesn’t recognize. Although she quietly cheers along with everyone’s much more enthusiastic reactions, Beca is ready for the ground to open up and swallow her whole, and proceeds to tip back a large gulp of her mixed drink as the next person takes their turn.

Fortunately, nobody seems to be landing on Beca, and she is happy to sit back and sip comfortably from her unfathomably strong drink. While her curious gaze flickers to the people leaning across the circle to lock lips every now and then, she isn’t exactly watching. However, it dawns on her that these people who have no romantic ties to one another seem to be sharing much more elaborate kisses than those she and Jesse had throughout most of their relationship. Apparently, Beca really has always just been _that_ good at ignoring red flags.

It is the sound of Chloe’s name that draws Beca’s attention next, Aubrey clapping excitedly while Ashley, a brunette Beca recognizes from Stacie’s birthday, stretches across the circle to meet Chloe halfway, before both push a quick peck to the other’s lips. It is a much more coy, respectful kiss than the ones Beca has witnessed before now, and considering the vibrant personality Beca had felt during her brief conversation with Chloe before, something about that surprises her a little bit.

This means it is now effectively Chloe’s turn to spin, though, and while Beca isn’t paying much attention to the bottle as it turns in the center, her gaze lowers to find the top stopping in her direction. She instinctively glances upward to be met with a raised auburn brow and a subtle smirk, something Beca cannot quite help mirroring. She still thinks this game is stupid, but she is already playing now… Might as well join in, right?

“Fuck yeah,” Stacie cheers, patting Beca harshly on the back, then urging her quickly forward. Beca responds with playfully rolled eyes, though dutifully leans across the circle regardless to accept what she assumes will be the same small peck Ashley and Chloe had shared only moments before.

However, the second her mouth locks with arguably the softest lips she has ever encountered—then again, she doesn’t have much to compare it to; presumably anybody can be considered _soft_ in comparison to Jesse’s roughly stubbled chin—Beca’s inward breath catches in her throat. A delicate hand rises until slender fingers are cradling her jaw, and where Beca expects at least one of them to pull away, neither does. Instead, Chloe’s head tilts until her lips are parting slightly, tongue pushing experimentally through the seam in her own, and Beca reciprocates with a gentle brush of her tongue against Chloe’s.

They eventually part to excited _woops_ and clapping hands, and as Beca’s eyes open, wide with surprise, to take in the sight of Chloe’s smirking face directly in front of her own, she feels her entire body melt beneath the small wink Chloe shoots her way.

“Damn, girl,” Stacie grins as Beca sinks back into her spot in the circle, hand proudly patting once more against Beca’s shoulder. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

While Beca scoffs in response, she can feel the way her cheeks have darkened to an embarrassing crimson color. She also notes that Chloe’s next kiss, shared with someone Beca has never seen before, is just another small peck.

* * *

Beca considers it fortunate, unlike the games she remembers from the very few high school parties she had attended back in her teens, that Spin the Bottle turns out to be a relatively short activity. The novelty seems to wear off after only a few more rounds, and Beca gets away with nothing more than sharing a brief peck with Aubrey, before the circle breaks off into those same smaller groups from before.

Of course, this means Beca is left to awkwardly stand alone again, and it proves to be something of a sickness for her, the fact that the sadist within just cannot seem to leave social media alone. She really does not care about Jesse, really doesn’t want him. In fact, she hasn’t wanted Jesse for a long while now, even before their eventual breakup—which only makes her feel more like a dick, but it is what it is. Regardless, it is instinct for Beca to unlock her beat up iPhone and thumb through to Instagram, where she is of course met with a new upload of Jesse and his new (annoyingly beautiful) girlfriend.

And Beca doesn’t care about that either. Sure, maybe to say so makes her seem like a woman scorned, but she really, really doesn’t. It is not Jesse nor his girlfriend, it is the idea that she is just that easy to get over that causes an obnoxious swirl to twist sickeningly in her stomach, and Beca just wishes she knew how to get it to go away.

While her nostrils flare uncomfortably, Beca soon forces her attention away from the screen and instead toward her empty cup, and Beca decides that it is time for a refill. It is not intentional, the way she mixes this one even more strongly than the first, and Beca wrinkles her nose as she stands alone in the kitchen, taking a gulp from the almost lethal concoction.

“Pour me one of those?”

From over the lip of her red solo cup, Beca’s gaze flickers to the side to see a now familiar sight approaching. Chloe’s lips, gloss now entirely kissed away—some of it by Beca—are curved into a small smile as she motions toward Beca’s newly filled drink.

“I mean, you look like you’re _really_ enjoying it, I think I need to try one,” she teases, to which Beca only chuckles quietly, before lowering the cup from her mouth.

“Yeah, apparently I learned drink mixing from Stacie,” she jokes dryly, eyes moving toward Chloe’s yellow cup. She notes from the shadow of whatever is inside of it that it is still half full. “You brought your own cup?”

Chloe only shrugs in response, before tipping back the remaining contents in one large gulp. Beca finds that she is, for some reason, quietly impressed.

Apparently, Chloe had not been joking about the drink, and proceeds to hold her now empty cup out toward Beca, who takes it with a somewhat questioning look. “Uh, it’s just jack and ginger,” she explains, though Chloe only watches her expectantly, so Beca turns back toward the counter to begin fixing Chloe one, too.

“You know, you didn’t tell me your name yet,” Chloe prompts, and Beca notes from the corner of her eye the way she leans cooly back against the raised kitchen counter, body casually twisting to position herself more comfortably. Although Beca is not looking directly at her, more focused on measuring out the alcohol into the yellow receptacle, she can feel the way Chloe’s piercing stare trains itself on her, and Beca feels her cheeks begin to inexplicably darken again in response.

“Stacie’s announcement to the entire room wasn’t enough?” Beca teases, finally moving her gaze upward. And Beca is not good with eye contact, she finds it awkward and uncomfortable at the best of times, but she notes the way her eyes immediately lock themselves with Chloe’s, and while she does pull it away eventually, it is not an instant reaction. “It’s Beca,” she offers, ears burning with spontaneous embarrassment, as she hands over the newly mixed drink.

“That’s pretty,” Chloe comments with a satisfied smile, stance mirroring her previous one with her arm crossed casually across her middle, while her elbow rests gently against it. “So how do you know Stacie? You guys don’t seem…” she trails off, nose wrinkling in what Beca assumes is deep thought.

“Yeah, I know,” Beca snorts unattractively. It is not news to her, the fact that Beca is definitely nothing like those she surrounds herself with. It seems that she attracts her polar opposites, both platonically and otherwise, and then with the one guy she’d always thought she had something in common with, her assumptions had ultimately turned out to be very wrong. “I live across the street.” Without thought, as if Chloe is actually interested and not just making polite conversation, she points out the window. “That house right there. We moved in around the same time, and our ex-boyfriends were friends, so I guess Stacie and I just became friends by default.”

While Chloe’s vibrant gaze follows the motion of Beca’s pointed finger, Beca notes a soft grimace pulling onto her lips. “Ex,” she echoes somewhat solemnly, yellow cup lifting toward her mouth. “That’s why you’re at an Anti-Valentines party, huh?”

Again, Beca is not sad about Jesse, she is not even sad about what she would consider their long overdue breakup, but the open mention of her _ex_ pulls that now familiar twist of discomfort to her stomach, and she finds herself instinctively glancing down toward the now locked phone screen in her hand. “Yeah,” she breathes out a small, forced chuckle. “Kind of sad, right?”

“No, it’s not sad,” Chloe assures in a softer, somehow more comforting voice. “You shouldn’t do that, though.”

Beca glances upward with a wrinkled brow, and finds herself studying Chloe’s twisted expression. “Do what?”

“Check his socials,” Chloe says very matter-of-factly, gaze flickering toward the phone in her hand, before training itself back on her face. It dawns on Beca that Chloe had probably been standing there a little longer than she had realized, that she’d maybe seen Beca thumbing self-tormentingly through her Instagram feed before. “That’s just gonna make you sad, and there’s no reason for the prettiest girl in the room to be sad.”

It is something of a knee-jerk reaction, the way Beca glances upward with a tilted head, and says before she has the chance to even really think about it, “You’re sad?”

With her gaze now glued to Chloe’s face, she sees the way Chloe’s lips pull inward in reaction, eyes glistening like particularly precious diamonds almost as if she is trying her hardest to bite back an amused grin, and Beca knows that her attempts to hold back her embarrassment are failing exponentially.

“God, sorry,” Beca puffs out a defeated chuckle, hand lifting to pinch the bridge of her nose between her thumb and pointer. “That was so fucking cheesy.”

“Super cheesy,” Chloe agrees with an almost annoyingly cute giggle. “Mostly I’m just impressed that you took my cheesy line and turned it around on me. That takes some skill.”

Lost quickly in her own self-deprecating shame, it only occurs to Beca at that moment that Chloe had, in fact, been using a line on her, and Beca’s cheeks proceed to naturally darken once again. Her head shakes, thoughts backtracking momentarily. “Yeah, I’m not...I’m not sad. It’s just…” Beca pauses then, quickly cutting herself off with another small shake of her head. “Whatever, we don’t need to talk about that.” Hurriedly, she shoves her phone into the back pocket of her skinny jeans, focus now entirely on Chloe. “What about you, why are you at an Anti-Valentines party?”

While Chloe looks like she is about to say something else, to perhaps disagree with Beca’s protests surrounding her feelings toward her breakup, she instead seems to cut herself off, then answers instead with a quick shrug of her shoulder. “Moral support.”

Beca only tilts her head at that, brunette curls tickling her shoulders, so Chloe continues.

“Aubrey’s… kind of going through it right now,” her nose wrinkles in a way that Beca silently notes is kind of adorable, though she pushes that thought away quickly. “I actually love Valentine’s Day, I think it’s nice seeing everybody so in love.”

Had anybody else hit her with that particular opinion, Beca would openly scoff, likely roll her eyes so far that they’d disappear into the back of her head. For some reason, though, because it is Chloe, and already there is just something so different about Chloe, she finds that the statement only makes her grin. “So why don’t you have a Valentine?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs nonchalantly, yellow cup rising toward her mouth. As she tips back a quick sip, Chloe’s nose wrinkles in the same disgusted way Beca’s had before, and Beca cannot help her soft chuckle in response. “I guess I just haven’t found anybody.”

“Good,” Beca responds, again a reflex that she doesn’t quite understand. She sees the way Chloe eyes her in amusement, so quickly adds with a clear of her throat, “You know, ‘cause it’d be weird if you were at an Anti-Valentines party if you had someone waiting for you at home.”

“True,” Chloe says with a feigned look of worry, “I don’t think my imaginary girlfriend would’ve liked knowing I’d kissed you like _that_.”

It is instinct—brought on by mention of their shared Spin the Bottle moment, duh—for Beca’s widened eyes to drop momentarily to Chloe’s lips, and when she pulls her sight back upward again in the interest of being respectful, she notes that Chloe’s gaze is trained much more unabashedly on her mouth, too.

“You know,” Chloe begins, pushing her body up coolly from her casual position against the counter. “We don’t need a bottle to tell us if you want to kiss me again.”

While the bold statement catches Beca slightly off guard, and she opens her mouth to say something—she doesn’t know whether it is an instinctive protest or a less characteristic (but entirely plausible) agreement—she finds that she doesn’t. Instead, she only allows her gaze to fall again, taken in by the sight of those inviting lips, of Chloe moving steadily closer toward her.

“Chloe,” a shrill voice calls from behind her, and where Beca had been lost in a momentary bubble, heart rate beginning to quicken in a way she cannot rightly explain, she is soon pulled from her trance by the addition of a third party brushing rapidly by her. “There you are.” Aubrey pauses, casting a glance toward Beca. “Oh. Hi, Beca.”

“Aubrey, hey,” Chloe greets brightly, free hand lifting to tuck a ginger lock behind her ear. “What’s up? Everything okay?”

Beca has only hung out with Aubrey a couple times before, doesn’t _really_ know her, but there was always something about her that she didn’t particularly love.

She fucking hates her now.

* * *

It proves kind of crazy to Beca, the fact that she has never actually met this person before tonight, that they have only had _two_ conversations in total, but that she finds her wandering eyes scouring the room for sightings of Chloe throughout the rest of the party.

Apparently, whatever Aubrey’s urgent dilemma was required Chloe’s full attention, so Beca is left to simply brood over the fact that she almost got a second kiss, this time without the childish need for an empty bottle telling them to do so, while mostly trailing around after Stacie like the lost puppy she is trying her hardest _not_ to be.

Beca is never the person to stay to the very end of a party—especially not one she never particularly wanted to be at in the first place—but she hangs back a little longer this time, before finally deciding, somewhere around eleven, that it is about the time to give up and leave.

Despite her outward—and entirely obvious, for the record—disgruntlement, as Beca makes the short walk across the street from Stacie’s house to her own, she cannot help but think to herself that the evening wasn’t quite as terrible as she had initially expected it to be. Being around people, even if Beca hadn’t socialized with many of them too deeply, had been way more fulfilling than sitting home and feeling sorry for herself in her pajamas with her lazy cat making what Beca is convinced are pity eyes toward her, and even if nothing had actually come of it, she’d met a pretty great girl, too. So, she isn’t exactly _happy_ as she steps out of the biting February night air and into her small, cozy home, but she is content, and that, she decides, is at least something.

It feels too late to even care about taking a shower, so Beca simply shrugs off her jeans, uncomfortable bra and band tee, then gets to work on replacing them with a pair of comfy gray sweatpants and...another band tee. (Whatever, this one, covered in hair dye stains from that unspoken experimental phase, is her version of pajamas.) She isn’t quite ready to pass out yet, so Beca trudges downstairs to make herself comfortable on the couch, patchwork blanket slung lazily over her lap as she idly scrolls through Netflix options, and pointedly avoiding anything that looks even remotely like a love story.

Considering Beca deems it too late to take a shower, it is _definitely_ too late for company, so at the sound of a soft knock to the door about ten minutes into _Mean Girls_ , Beca’s head snaps up in confusion, while Gunner darts quickly for the bedroom.

Beca has seen horror movies before—she doesn’t _like_ them, but she has seen them—she knows no good ever comes from opening the door to an unexpected visitor late at night, but she apparently is not thinking properly as she shuffles toward the front door, tugging on the inside bolt, before swinging it cautiously open for her eyes to land on familiar red hair and a bright, piercing stare.

“Uh,” Beca starts dumbly, confused gaze sweeping over Chloe’s perfect form. Quickly scrambling to find her voice, and forcing herself not to acknowledge that she is currently wearing the most unattractive outfit while Chloe still looks like _that_ , she clears her throat. “Hey! What are you doing here? Not that I don’t want—” Beca trails off, instinctively tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. “What’s up?”

“Our conversation was interrupted,” Chloe states simply, bright gaze dropping momentarily toward Beca’s mouth. In turn, Beca finds herself doing the same thing, eyes training themselves on those overly inviting lips as if no time has passed between their conversation in the kitchen and now. “Is it okay?” Chloe asks, “That I’m here, I mean…”

“Yeah,” Beca just about gets the chance to say, before Chloe is taking a step closer to duck her head, and almost as if they are somehow in sync, Beca stretches upward to meet her halfway. A small hand reaches out to grip messily at the chest of Chloe’s light blue shirt, before their lips are eagerly crashing together in a much more hungry, much less calculated kiss. “Yeah. God, yeah, it’s so okay,” Beca murmurs into Chloe’s mouth, body shivering beneath the way slender fingers grasp possessively at her waist.

Verbally inviting Chloe in doesn’t seem necessary, considering the way she has already begun to push her body against Beca’s, and Beca reciprocates by clinging more tightly onto Chloe’s shirt, though one hand lets go to reach around her and close the door behind them.

And Beca has never experienced this before, never had such an intense need to be close to someone in the way she is with Chloe right now, especially not someone who was a total stranger to her only a matter of hours earlier, but God, she is so not complaining.

While she releases the fabric bunched harshly between her fingers, Beca’s hands easily rise to cup desperately at Chloe’s rosy cheeks, blindly leading her backward and toward the cushion-covered couch. They only part when the need for a quick suck of oxygen becomes entirely necessary, though Beca stares up at Chloe through hooded lids, taking in the way darkened eyes seem to be drinking her in, too.

She obviously had not been expecting company, so Beca’s compact living room is really not in the tidiest shape, but she’ll worry about that tomorrow. For now, she is much more focused on the way Chloe ducks her head again, with Beca’s lips immediately parting to slip her tongue through the seam in Chloe’s, until they are falling back onto the couch with hungry mouths fighting against one another’s in a searing, urgent kiss.

“You mix a really good drink,” Chloe murmurs as she proceeds to flip Beca onto her back, body now hovering over the top of her own.

“I knew you were a weirdo,” Beca breathes out unsteadily, kiss-swollen lips arching upward at the corners. Her arms easily wind to wrap around Chloe’s neck in an effort to quickly tug her body tightly into her own.

Or maybe she is wrong, maybe _Beca_ is the weirdo here, because it is wildly unlike her to do something like this, to accept an almost-stranger into her home, and to literally lay here making out with her on her couch—not to mention loving it so much. Apparently, she is riding a new wave of confidence, a seed of adrenaline planted by a woman whose last name she doesn’t even know, because as Chloe leans back for another quick gulp of air, Beca begins to trail her hungry lips toward the underside of Chloe’s incredibly defined jaw, open-mouthed kisses dropping an eager path toward her neck.

She’d known there was certainly something behind that Spin the Bottle kiss, but perhaps Beca hadn’t quite registered the undeniable tension—undeniable _sexual_ tension—at first, but it seems that it all pours out between them now in a desperate crash of messy waves as their bodies press to one another’s in the easiest, most naturally fitting shape. Shaky hands tug at items of clothing, removing the fabric barriers between them as Beca pulls her lips from the soft skin of Chloe’s neck, darkened eyes sweeping upward to take in the lustful expression on Chloe’s made up face.

It really does not come as a surprise to Beca, the fact that obviously confident Chloe likes to take charge, though she does emit an involuntary gasp as Chloe’s head ducks toward her now bare chest. As full lips begin their path over the hill of her goose-pimpled breast, kissing dangerously close to her nipple, Beca cannot help the way she murmurs out a stupid, needless, “I don’t do this often.”

Although it seems Chloe is in the zone, swept up in the heat of the moment, she instantly pauses with the sound of Beca’s shaky voice. Her body easily moves itself until she is situated with her face hovering in front of Beca’s, and questioning eyes begin to search her own.

“I just mean…” Beca lets out a nervous chuckle, cheeks reddening in the least surprising way. “Hook up with people I just met.” In spite of her words, her hands have found their way to Chloe’s bare back, fingertips trailing gently over the warm skin above the strap of her still intact bra.

“Do you think I’m judging you?” Chloe questions fondly, auburn brow arched as her gaze sweeps over Beca’s expression, perhaps searching for signs of discomfort. She ducks her face to brush a chaste kiss to Beca’s lips, one Beca easily reciprocates. “We can stop.”

“No!” Beca blurts quickly, internally kicking herself for ruining whatever this intense moment was shaping up to be. “No, don’t stop, I didn’t mean—” In an effort to save herself, and to quell the incessant ache building rapidly between her legs, the strange urge she has specifically for Chloe, she lifts her face to reconnect their lips, mumbling against them, “Yeah, no, definitely don’t stop.”

“Are you sure?” Chloe questions, though she has already begun to kiss her way downward again, and Beca’s hands slip upward to rake through the back of those beautiful ginger curls.

“Mhm,” Beca nods, hooded gaze drifting downward to take in the sight of Chloe’s parted lips continuing their earlier path, until they are expertly wrapping around an already stiffened nipple. “God, yeah, I’m sure,” Beca breathes unsteadily, sinking back naturally against the arm of the couch. Wavered breath catches in her throat beneath the flat of Chloe’s tongue brushing against the pebbled peak between her lips.

There is something so inviting about the distinct pop to sound from Chloe’s mouth releasing Beca’s hardened nipple, and Beca cannot help but whimper desperately in response to the slow puff of cool air Chloe releases against the wet peak.

And how a simple kiss has gotten this far, Beca truly does not know. She really, really doesn’t, but just like before, she is certainly not complaining. Not as Chloe begins to sit herself upward to curl manicured fingers around the waistband of Beca’s loose fitting gray sweatpants, darkened eyes sweeping over her naked torso. Beca expects to feel vulnerable, to feel at least some form of apprehension, but for some reason, she simply doesn’t.

She sits upward then, suddenly desperate not to lose any form of contact with the woman on top of her. The way she seeks out kiss-swollen lips is needy and eager, and she feels the way Chloe smirks into the messy kiss as her hands work at pulling down the clothing on Beca’s bottom half. For Beca’s part, one hand falls from the back of Chloe’s hair to instead skim over the clasp of her bra, and she surprises herself with just how easily she unhooks the mechanism.

She has never done this before, never with a woman anyway, but Beca finds that she is not questioning any of it. She rides on instinct as she peels Chloe’s bra away from her body to toss aside with their discarded shirts, lips pushing to the indent left behind on the otherwise smooth skin of her shoulder.

Beca only pulls back when Chloe begins to lower again, this time settling herself between Beca’s bare, spread legs. Her hand settles against the back of Chloe’s neck, auburn curls tickling her fingers, and her body lowers back into its previous position as she watches the way Chloe leans in to brush her lips to the sensitive dip in her hip. Her face lowers, and Beca silently, mentally wills her to touch her where she suddenly _needs_ her the most.

That first touch of Chloe’s tongue, the first sweep as her lips wrap eagerly around Beca’s swollen clit, lights a deeper fire inside of Beca’s core, and she isn’t sure whether the immediate whimper she lets out is in response to that or to the way she can see Chloe staring up at her through fanned lashes in a way that turns Beca on beyond belief.

Jesse was never...the best at this, but God, it is clear right away that Chloe knows exactly what she is doing, and as Beca watches those bright eyes cover over with hooded lids, she sinks further back herself, back arching into Chloe’s touch and fingers instinctively tangling themselves in curled auburn locks.

Chloe’s hands do not remain idle; one stretches upward to cup experimentally at Beca’s breast, the other trailing deft fingers along her inner thigh, and Beca moans naturally in response to the point of Chloe’s expert tongue flickering against her in exactly the right spot. It is like she knows Beca’s body already, knows exactly how to touch her, how to work her to make her feel as entirely worshipped, entirely _seen_ as possible.

Beca has never been the most vocal in the bedroom—or on the couch, in this particular instance—but she opts not to hold back her increasing volume as Chloe’s tongue works her up, the flat brushing through aching folds, until two fingers are slowly sinking their way inside of her. The soft moan Chloe emits in reaction to Beca’s inner walls enveloping her curling digits vibrates against Beca in the most delicious way, and she cannot help another strained whimper of her own.

“Fuck,” Beca pants, hips instinctively beginning to rock with the movement of Chloe’s skilled tongue and deft fingers working her up in a way that Beca has never experienced before, but that she already knows she wants so, so much more of.

It is almost embarrassing, how rapidly she can feel herself hurtling toward her peak, and when she does finally fly over that beautiful edge with her jaw slackened and loud, pleasured sounds emitting into the thick air around them, Chloe’s lips are wrapped around her throbbing clit, sucking gently while her skilled tongue coaxes Beca easily through her high. A part of Beca wants to put it down to the fact that she has not been touched in the longest time, but she has a feeling this isn’t purely a result of needing physical interaction, and more so just that it is this particular person giving it to her. It is not like Beca can even try to deny her immediate attraction to Chloe, after all.

Chloe, a person Beca could not have picked out in a crowd before this evening, but that Beca finds herself eagerly watching with lust-filled eyes as she cleans her up and then kisses her way back up Beca’s trembling body, with Beca’s fingers tugging where they rest in the back of her now much messier hair, until she can pull her face closely to her own. Her lips glisten with remnants of Beca’s arousal, with evidence of the incredible orgasm she has just pulled from her, while Beca trembles with distinct aftershocks, until their mouths are fusing hungrily together once more.

While she can feel the way Chloe’s lips curve upward against her own into a satisfied—or maybe smug… yeah, definitely smug—smirk, Beca only whimpers against them, eventually forcing herself back to stare up at Chloe through hooded lids.

“You taste good,” Chloe murmurs, brushing a lazier peck to Beca’s parted lips this time. Her arm pushes its way beneath Beca’s neck to wind comfortably around her, and Chloe’s body hovers over the top of her own as darkened eyes drink in the panting, whimpering sight before her.

Although Beca’s cheeks flush at the compliment she doesn’t really know how to respond to, her resulting smirk seems to mirror Chloe’s.

“Sorry for the late visit, by the way,” Chloe teases, voice at a lower, huskier volume. “I’ve kind of been wanting you all night.”

Beca’s head tilts slightly in response, amusement drawing onto her expression as she stares up at Chloe’s face, gaze dancing between the most mesmerizing eyes and those dangerously inviting lips. “Yeah?” Beca swallows in an effort to regulate her faster breathing. Her fingertips stroke against the warm skin of Chloe’s neck, and as Chloe responds with a small, soft nod of her head, Beca’s lips curve into a more obvious, more bashful smile. “You can have me all night.”

Chloe only gets the chance to look at her with an amused yet questioning expression, head tilting slightly to the side, before Beca lifts her face to brush kiss-swollen lips against Chloe’s, still able to taste remnants of herself in the softer peck. “Stay,” Beca mumbles, registering the way Chloe’s mouth turns upward against her own. “I think you should stay.”

Man, they have only known each other a matter of hours… Why does Beca get the feeling that her own request extends further than just the night?

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, happy Valentine's Day! Find me [here](http://chloebeale.tumblr.com).


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